


You have a lot of freckles

by slightlybatty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlybatty/pseuds/slightlybatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Oliver Wood, and you are eleven. Today, this first of September, you're going to Hogwarts. Hogwarts in itself is very exciting indeed, but not nearly as exciting as the boy you meet on the train.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You hug your mother and your father tightly, wishing them goodbye as you grab your trunk. You were at Platform 9 3/4, dressed like a muggle because your father had driven you there in his weird muggle car, like his father drove him. You suppose it's somewhat of a tradition. 

The whistle blows, and your parents shoo you along, telling you there's only five minutes left to board. Your mother kisses your cheek affectionately, and you wave goodbye as you walk towards the brilliant scarlet train. 

You lug your trunk into a gleaming car, waving to your parents once again before moving in to pick a compartment at random. You slide its door open, marching in with your trunk behind you. There is a redheaded boy with glasses, reading one of the schoolbooks. He glances up at you for a moment, but continues reading. You take this as permission to join him. 

You hoist your trunk up by his, in the rack above the seats, and sit down across from him. 

He continues reading. You fidget. 

The train pulls out from the station. There is a lot of steam, and it fogs the window a bit.

He turns the page of his book. You fidget some more in the uncomfortable silence. 

"You have a lot of freckles," you finally blurt out. 

The boy starts, looking at you and glancing at his arm, which is weird because he's wearing long sleeves. You watch as his fair cheeks bloom in color. He blinks at you, and you blink back. 

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" he asks, and you shiver because your whole stomach is tingling, and you just keep looking at him, blinking in shock. 

"A, um, a compliment..?" you managed to get out, wondering where in the world your confidence ran off to. 

He blinks again, the blush spreading across his nose and to the tips of his ears. He closes his book, slipping a scrap of parchment between the pages before laying it on the bench next to him. His hands are shaking subtly as he pushes up the sleeve of his right arm, and there it says _you have a lot of freckles_ , chocolate brown flourishes slowing to a stop. 

You follow his lead, lifting up your muggle tee shirt to show your belly, where _is that a compliment or an insult_ curls around your abdomen, lines still flowing out like vermillion rays. 

He stares at you, and you stare right back, letting your shirt fall as you move your hands away. 

"Oliver," you blurt, because you hate this weird silence. "Oliver... Wood." 

You extend your hand to the redhead. He takes it, and you shake firmly, relishing the warmth you get when your hands touch. 

"Percy, uh, Weasley. Percy Weasley."


	2. Chapter 2

You sighed, falling to the bench in the empty compartment, and allowed yourself to relax in the quietness of it. Your new trunk stood at attention by the compartment door, waiting for you to place it in the overhead racks. It was a present for your birthday, after you had gotten your letter. Bill was using Dad's trunk, and Charlie was using Mum's, and you got a new one because Mum wasn't ready to separate your uncles' trunks yet. You couldn't say you remembered them, but you were still sad well enough. You supposed she might give them to Fred and George, and once Bill and Charlie graduated, those to Ron and Ginny. Your trunk was new, though, and not to gloat, but it was pretty much the best thing ever. You had a new wand, too - birch, ten-and-a-quarter inches, phoenix feather, unyielding - but you really love your trunk. It's all dark oak and brassy gold fittings, and you've never had anything better in your whole life, which was admittedly, quite a short time.

You hear the faint sound of a whistle, and decide you better get ready for departure. The weight of Bill's old book in Charlie's old robes gives you confidence as you finger the birch and remind yourself of Miranda Goshawk's careful prose.

Swish and Flick, she says, and you go through the motions and whisper the phrase, and you tell yourself you won't be disappointed if it doesn't work, but all for naught! Your trunk is there, floating serenely up to the overhead rack!! You’ll never to doubt Miranda Goshawk again, and vow to purchase every one of her books.

You settled on the seat again, slipping _A Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_ out of your pocket. It was nearly new, for Bill didn’t care much for revising, and you were ecstatic that you got all his first year books. Well, most of them. Each DADA teacher always wanted a different book, so that one was new. You hoped a certain Kingsley Shacklebolt knew what he was doing, as you don’t think you could bear it if you had an awful teacher your first year. You knew that you’d probably get Gryffindor, like your family before you, but you don’t think you would’ve minded Ravenclaw.

A boy walks in, startling you slightly. You glanced at him carefully, and he looked nice enough. Halfblood, you guessed, because he didn’t make a mess of muggle clothes and he had that sort of air about him, one that muggleborn don’t usually have. You suppose it comes from growing up around magic. His hair is curly, like yours, but wonderful chocolate brown. He had some freckles on his arms and his face, but not nearly as many as yourself.

He shoves his trunk up by yours, not nearly half as graceful or efficient, and sits down with a bit of a huff. You busy yourself with Miranda Goshawk’s words, and barely feel the train start up. It’s calming, you think, as you’ve always loved trains.

"You have a lot of freckles," the boy says, suddenly.

You start, and almost glare at him, but it turns into a look of surprise. Your arm finally catches your attention, with its incessant pins-and-needles feeling. You look at it a bit harder, even though you know what it says, and you know what that means. You feel your cheeks get hot, and you look at him, blinking a bit with confusion. He blinks back at you, and you feel as though you’ve got to say something.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" you ask, and he jolts upright, his tan cheeks getting a bit of color in them. He’s blinking very fast, and you blush a bit more. Not an Unrequited, then.

"A, um, a compliment..?" he stutters out, and you feel the rest of your face heat up spectacularly. You carefully slip a scrap of parchment between the pages of Miranda Goshawk’s book, placing it gently beside you.

You fumble with the sleeve of your robe, shakily pushing it up. Your arm’s mostly stopped doing that uncomfortable feeling, and the chocolate brown phrase is still the same as always, except it’s not, because there’s all these flowing paisleys around it, and it looks fantastic.

When you look back, he’s looking at you, his eyes wide. His hands stray to the hem of his shirt, gently tugging it up to reveal your words in brilliant vermilion, the lines around it spreading out like spilt milk, or rays of light. You look at him, still, even when he lets the hem fall. Your arm has long since gone back to covered.

"Oliver," he says suddenly, then looks very nervous. "Oliver... Wood."

He holds out his hand for you to shake, and you take it carefully. His hand is pleasantly warm, and you shake it firmly.

"Percy,” you say, then, “Uh, Weasley. Percy Weasley."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an especially large apology to moonlit_dreams, because I said soon and it's been like a month imsosorry


End file.
